


What the Rain Brings

by Huskylover4200



Series: The Summoning Series [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bilingual Character(s), Coffee Shops, Drama, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Getting Over It With Zelgius, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memes, Offensive Langauge, Redemption, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Tension, Second Chances, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Shared Baggage, Slow Burn, Tamara in general, Tattoo, city life, coming out for like the 8th time, daily life, feh quotes, if you can guess the city by the first chapter you deserve a cookie, incorrect feh quotes, no jaret doesn't fuck the pastry, overuse of the term mijo, pastry porn, routines, sorry Zelgius, tattoo shop, what else did you expect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-25 05:55:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17719388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huskylover4200/pseuds/Huskylover4200
Summary: The time had come for the start of a new season, one of plenty and full of intended promise. The sickly dry air would be replaced with a fine vapor, making breathing easier in the heat of the afternoon. The dust would settle and form back into the soil, replenishing the ground with vital nutrients. Further moments of rain would come, intending upon drowning out the blistering heat with cool showers. The rain was finally here, and with it was the promise of new life.





	1. A Dark Night

**Author's Note:**

> An ambitious start to a two-part fic! It's actually my first time posting one of my fics on AO3, so we'll see how it goes.
> 
> Comments and questions are welcome!

The rain came down in a heavy downpour, cleansing the busy city of its stench for the time being. The drops fell for miles, soaking the earth with their tinged acidity as the beads were released upon the very grounds of societal diversity. Droplets flowed down stark cracks in the pavement, searching for their place deep within the earth. Others met the currents of the River, following its roaming stream towards the outlet into the ocean that lined the very land. The more stubborn ones became trapped in solids not meant for them. Plastic bins, empty bottles and cans, metal cannisters… Anything that held out its open arms to the rain received the blessing upon them, filling up and indignantly preventing the water from doing its desired task. A funny thing, really.

Ominous clouds loomed overhead, offering a few rumbles of annoyance to those caught outside, the citizens ignoring the threats with faded umbrellas. They hardly were affected by this natural occurrence, ready to equip the necessary tools to prevent departure from their schedules. Prepared were they in advanced, it appeared, as most donned coats or hats as they made their way to wherever it was they were destined. The storm above supposed it didn't mind, and continued to provide the earth with a wetness of renewal.

Those who were unlucky enough to dash outside without their useful tools were pelted as the rain picked up its pace. A few exclamations of protest, a number of curses bore upon the slippery streets as articles were drenched in the evening shower. The deluge seemed impenetrable, clouds thick with moisture as they dropped their orbs downwards, windshields of vehicles working to clear their sights of the hazard. A danger that acted as an inconvenience, perhaps, offering the bitter engagement with injury upon slick ground as the hustle of commute continued on through the night.

A bit of a nuisance while commandeering such advanced machinery, and yet they manned it quite well. Seasoned citizens they were, operating on streets they knew like the back of their hand. Rain was not a daily occurrence here, but they were well-prepared when it graced their presence. The sight of rain was their gift.

It had not rained here in a long while, as evident by the dusty ground crafting a powdered sludge as it mixed with the water. Months, perhaps it had been since the earth had last received its grace of swell clouds, and she was all too gracious to accept the offering. The people too, were grateful for the rain, farmers eager for plentiful crops, individuals tired of the dry conditions and coarse ground.

The time had come for the start of a new season, one of plenty and full of intended promise. The sickly dry air would be replaced with a fine vapor, making breathing easier in the heat of the afternoon. The dust would settle and form back into the soil, replenishing the ground with vital nutrients. Further moments of rain would come, intending upon drowning out the blistering heat with cool showers. The rain was finally here, and with it was the promise of new life.

A blessing, truly, had been doled out upon this western city.

***

The rain was the first thing he processed when he came to. It dripped onto his face from the sky above, thick droplets soaking his visage as hazy thoughts loomed in his head. His mind was a mess, a jumbled up concoction of distorted images and words that appeared as an array of distressed colors. At first they were blurry, too opaque and obscure for him to understand, as if he had been thrown into a sea of clouds that drowned him under their dense layers. It clung onto him tightly, coating him in what felt like a thick idle of suspended nothingness.

He supposed it was akin to being drugged, mind unable to coherently piece the bits of thought together as he tried to identify concepts relevant to his being. Things like whether or not he was alive, or instead stuck in a purgatory. Whether he was here or there, present in the past or otherwise. Whether he was the same being he might consider himself to be or a mind entrapped within the confines of another body… If only he could derive sensical meaning from the haze that wore on him.

His eyes were shut, he realized, taking a second to process this fact, and he gladly accepted the new information provided by his foggy mind. He wondered if the dreary state was beginning to wear off, his body's sensory system now beginning to acknowledge other details of his surroundings.

He could feel the rain wet his face, cool to the touch as it crafted long lines down his jaw and neck. He supposed it felt nice- better than being underneath a stuffy helm- and took in a deep breath, surprised to find that he was able to do just that. His whole body had been performing its autonomous acts this entire time, but only now did he come to terms his with ability to perform what any other living thing could do without thought.

His lips parted and he slowly sucked in a breath, feeling his lungs expand with the motion. His body perked up a bit, seemingly excited to have the intake of oxygen in his system, and so he repeated the action a few more times.

Slowly, the rest of his body responded, awakening as if from a deep slumber to heed his call. It made him feel alive…but he didn't know if that was in fact the truth. His mind was beginning to stir as well, telling him otherwise- feeding his doubt with snippets of memories from his innermost sanctum. It wasn't as pleasant, he found, not nearly as nice as the hope his body gave him.

Visions of stark fields and war-torn ground came to mind, offering a look into prior events, but the man pushed them away, preferring the feeling of his body relishing his acknowledgement. It felt better to instead keep filling his lungs with steady breaths, feeling the way they compressed when he exhaled, as if it were a gift to take in the surrounding air.

An image of a saddened child flashed before his eyes and caused his last breath to come out shakily. Blue eyes pierced his mind. There was a softness in them, paired equally with the tears that fell from them as he looked directly at the man who was receiving the image. The boy was kneeling in the dirt, sobs forcing his body to quiver, and the man's breathing grew short, wrought with his own upset. He found he couldn't look away.

His thoughts were cruel in how they demanded his attention, forcing such a poignant reminder upon him as quickly as they had come together in his mind. They attempted to fault his breathing, urging him to explore the pictures they offered; he refused and screamed at him, the wails echoing in the confines of his head. He knew where these slopes would lead, slippery with pain and isolation if he dare so much as step on them. He knew the horrors of the blood etched into their finer details, the massacre of skin and bone he would walk into if he allowed the tendrils to wrap around him. He would not submit to the agony they were so cleverly hiding beneath veiled intentions.

The man clenched his fists and grit his teeth, finding that his mind was too powerful to combat; it would overwhelm him and consume him if he didn't shift focus. He searched for another outlet, desperate for release from the war looming within him. He needed a fast escape from the despair dragging its desolation towards him, searching for open doors in this mansion of locked ones. If only there was a key for just one of these doors. 

The darkness loomed in his peripherals and he frantically grabbed at the handle. Locked, like all the others. The monster behind him called his name, sickly sweet on his tongue as it approached. Its eyes were the same blue, he noticed, and his heart pounded in his chest. There was the name again, once more on the beast's tongue as one of the tendrils touched his leg. The man screamed and yanked hard on the door, crying out for help from anyone. Soon it would be upon him, and all the memories he had hidden away would resurface, claiming him with their vile taste and forcing them to hate himself once again...

_A fat drop of rain fell onto his nose._

The door suddenly gave way and opened for him. He dashed inside, nearly tripping over his own feet before locking it behind him. His breaths were heavy pants, his heart beating out of his chest as he sunk to the floor.

The image slowly began to dissipate from his conscious, fading into the background with subtle grey undertones. There were no more mansion doors in front of him, no more ebbings of darkness teasing at his psyche. He parted his mouth and exhaled a pent up sigh, the motion allowing his mind to slip away from the painfully coded trauma and instead sink into a state of calm. The rain was now a soft pitter-patter as it fell, a sweet scent emerging from its presence. 

_He had found that outlet._

The man was grateful, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he tilted his head back on what he presumed to be a wall. It smelled quite earthy, and he stayed there for a moment, content with the coolness of the firmness behind him. It comforted him enough to steady his breathing, and he eventually found himself allowing his body to take back over control of his lungs as he instead chose to concentrate on the environment around him. 

His mind drifted back towards the rain.

He could feel the rain coat his entire being, thoroughly soaking his padded collar and wetting the skin underneath. He didn't doubt that his body too, was drenched underneath the layers of armor he had on. The gaps were designed to allow the wearer's skin to breath during combat, he recalled, and now they simply permitted the water to greet his skin, a cool sensation washing over it.

Different, he surmised. He wasn't unfamiliar to getting wet while wearing his armor, as some battles were inevitably washed upon by rain, but with the way it held heavy underneath the plates, he wondered if he had been stuck here for quite some time.

_But where was here?_

His thoughts shifted from the rain to the rest of the sounds he had been deaf to beforehand. Sounds of things he hadn't heard prior. Commotion, perhaps- voices speaking to one another as they traveled from here to there, the splash of water on the ground…a child jumping into a puddle, maybe? He listened further, great rumbling sounds traveling with the voices, a slew of honks and squeals in the rain of things that sounded monstrous. It didn't sound like a setting he had heard before. _Strange_ , he thought.

Feeling emboldened by his inquisitiveness, he opened his eyes.

The image before him was a bit blurry at first, his eyes working to adjust to the dark surroundings he found himself in. It was evident that it was night time, the lack of the sun's bright light thankfully missing. Certain bright specs still appeared to dot the sky, however, faint white formations seeming to move about.

When his vision began to clear up, he noticed that he was in some sort of alleyway, the walls dark and leading out in both directions. They were too tall for him to see over, and he quickly realized that it was most likely because he was propped up against a wall. The array of colors around him were a combination of dark greys and browns, but his eyes soon became accustomed enough to make out additional structures. He turned his head to look around, seeing a variety of things he couldn't place or name. Beside him was some sort of cannister, or container perhaps. It appeared quite large, though stout enough that he could probably climb onto it if he tried. It obscured his vision to the left of him, but he could see that behind it lay more of those bright lights. 

Curiosity driving him, he leaned towards it for a closer look, his face receiving a fine waft of pungent odor as a consolation for the action. He recoiled almost instantaneously, hand clenched over his nose as the scent attacked his nostrils and caused his face to twist with the most unpleasant expression. _What on earth is that smell?!_ He found himself gagging, the stench emerging through his measly gauntlet to solidify his fate. Indescribable, he'd call it. Perhaps even worse than death.

He quickly turned away and scooched over, stomach still churning from the ghastly aroma. He wasn't too fond of the idea of puking on his armor... Thankfully, though, there were other things to keep himself preoccupied…

To his right were a few boxes, their material makeup showing wear from being soaked. He reached his gauntlet over and touched one, surprised when he found it to be soft instead of a hard wooden texture. He pressed into it and watched as it collapsed onto the ground. The man blinked a few times, trying to make sense of what had happened, arm extending again to mess with it. He found it was like wet parchment under his touch, his face scrunching up in disgust as it secreted a watery ooze from the pressure. It didn't smell, but the sight wasn't too pleasant to behold, and so he turned his head to find something else to look at.

In front of the opposing wall was another one of those containers, this one a bit taller than the last. Above it was a lofty structure of some sort, perhaps a stronghold crafted of materials lighter than stone. It had a number of bright lights attached to it, but they didn't appear to be lanterns. He cocked his head, mind pondering on the odd placement and design. A quite practical use, he was sure the bright orbs of illumination were, but the sheer quantity threw him off. He had counted over several dozen of these glowing lights just on that one structure alone. Inquisitive eyes followed the outline of the structure, finding that there were numerous ones lining the wall of the alleyway, all with a similar number of lights. He gave up counting after the third structure.

Curious as to where he was, the man thought it best to get a better look at his surroundings. He figured he would head out and get bearings on the area, considering he had no concept for where he was. Surely it was not Tellius, as he had first thought. Instead, it might have been a different land, a different nation of sorts. One he would need to have proper information on if he were to survive. 

He released a drawn out sigh and began to lift himself up, hearing the protest in his body as his joints cracked from the disuse. He felt a little lightheaded at first when he stood at his full height, but was relieved by a wave of alertness that washed over his body. With a new purpose in mind, he seemed ready to start his task, taking a step just to test himself. Nothing detrimental happened, and a warm feeling washed over him. He could do this.

He did, however, pause before he left the alleyway, his mind telling him that he might have been forgetting something. _Something_ … Ah! Yes, how could he forget… 

He turned around and looked at the spot where he had been, eyes searching for his belongings. The space was in fact devoid of any articles when he walked over to it, his eyes scanning the area numerous time- even bending down to be sure. _The helm_ … The piece in question was missing, the visage of his namesake. He furrowed his brows and sighed, not knowing whether it was a good or bad thing. Hell, even his weapon was missing, it's steely weight very much so absent in his hands. Yet in comparison, he still had the rest of his armor, which made him wonder of the situation he was in. If someone were to attack him, he might be hard-pressed and outclassed, despite the specifics provided by his attire. 

The man only stood up and exhaled loudly through his nose, deciding that he'll figure it out along the way. He was gifted in the ways of the sword, but he could make use of any weapon if need be. But still, his bearings… 

He happened to look over at the other wall as he made his way down the alley, eyes landing on the container he had scouted previously. This one, he recalled, was surely larger than the last. He stepped towards it, curious as to its purpose, and failed to realize beforehand that it was the same design as the last one. 

He pressed his gauntlets to the top of the container and leaned in, an odd array of items thrown about within it. He took one whiff of it and his mistake was fully evident on his face. _No, this one was death in its true form._

He stepped back from it and gagged loudly, choking on his breaths as he covered his nose and mouth with both hands to mask the smell that threatened his quaking abdomen. That only made it worse, however, the hellish stench having stuck onto the armor. _Nothing in the world could compare to this smell._

He threw his head forward and retched, bile forcing its way out of his throat. He continued to expel the empty contents of his stomach, acid bearing his esophagus ill-will as tears streamed down his face. He had been through much, but he had never smelled anything quite like this.

It took him forever to qualm his agonized body, hours seeming to have passed in place of minutes, but he soon regained control over himself and began to commence what he had set out to do. He stood up and wiped his mouth, face slightly upturned at the somewhat lingering stench on his gauntlet. Thankfully, he hadn't gotten any of the bile on his armor, but his throat still burned. He swallowed dryly and turned to head out of the alleyway, being sure to stay the hell away from that damned container and anything else that even so much as remotely looked like it.

He would not make that same mistake again. 

His steps were heavy as he walked, his armor clinking in chime with the rain. Soon he'd have something to make sense of. He was an intelligent and crafty man, after all. He could be thrust into any situation and find a way through. All he had to do now was step out into the gleaming colors before him and…

Lights. Lights everywhere. Bright, glowing stars stained white, all flashing in his face. _Dear sweet mother of Daein_

He shielded his face with his hand, grimacing as his eyes protested such an unwarranted amount of information. He had never seen anything so bright, convinced truly that he had looked upon the sun.

"By the gods…" he rasped as he backed away from the ever looming brightness. He never knew light could be so painful… Oh how it burned, searing his vision like waking up in the morning after too many pints of mead. _Dear blessed Begnion._

He just wanted a break, but fate was proving to be cruel.

Minutes passed and his sensitivity grew less and less. He thanked whomever he could think of and braved removing his hand completely from his face. It wasn't so bad once he got used to it. Light were everywhere, it seemed. On structures like the ones he had seen in the alleyway, on things moving here and there on streets slick with rain. So many lights… He had never seen anything in all of Tellius.

There was a certain something about them, some white and flashing, others red and blue, pulsing to a sort of dance as they flickered. It was fascinating, and in the rain he thought it beautiful. Droplets slid down tubes of yellow, dotted strips of green and purple, dripped from letters spelling out things he could read, but not fully understand.

 _In what world_ , he thought, face turning to take in the full view. Nothing looked at all like anything he had come to know back in Daein or Begnion. Tall, looming structures lined the sky, lights illuminating them as towering giants of this world. Objects of some kind perused the streets, taking lights with them as they roared their arrivals.

_So that was the source of that sound…_

He watched curiously as they rolled away, their odd, sloping forms moving away from him as he stood there. They indeed had wheels of some sort, but they seemed to move all on their own. He watched people hail them with their arms, opening what appeared to be doors before getting in. A chariot, perhaps? They lacked horses, though, and were manned by people, still. 

_Chariots that run on magic, perhaps…_

Whatever they were, he figured it best not to approach one, for worry that they might take one look at him and identify his armor. He might not have been in Tellius, but that surely could prove to be an issue. 

He turned down the street and walked, taking into account the various looks of the people he passed. They varied in height and appearances, but not a single one looked like him. Their clothing seemed extremely fancy and ornate, as if expressing their royalty of this realm, though it did not fit his own description of attire royalty would wear. Still, it was obvious that he stuck out amongst these individuals, a number of them staring at him and gawking considerably. He felt nervous around them, unsure of having them look at him like that. If he had had his helm, he might not have cared, but instead his face was available for them to lay eyes on. 

Some complimented his appearance, walking up to him and asking for a photo. He simply shook his head and offered them a coarse apology, not even beginning to have a possible answer to what a photo was. Most seemed to understand, though, which he was grateful for, but there were some that got right in his face and begged him for a photo-op. He was quick to stammer some sort of response, his personal space feeling quite violated as they pressed him with forced compliments. For one group in particular, he had raised his hands out front of his chest to simply keep them at arms reach. They had been adamant about touching his armor, and he sure as hell wasn't having any of that, if him putting distance between them anything to go by. It seemed to ward them off for the most part though, enough so that they backed off with a murmur of disappointed words.

Others offered snickers and giggles, asking him which Dungeons and Dragons convention he had just come from, or if he was one to "cosplay his favorite character." Those were even weirder comments than the ones who were seemingly infatuated with his armor. He couldn't conceptualize their teases on "roleplaying," wondering just what kind of bizarre things these individuals were into. From what he could grasp though, the implication of such constructs sounded negative, almost bordering an insult, but these instigators were objectively less in-his-face than the others who had bombarded him, so he didn't take the words to heart. He instead apologized and continued on his way, not knowing what to make of these strange individuals.

Even the establishments that were commonplace amongst the street confused him. Names like "Zoom Tan" and "Cockatoo's" sounded weird on his tongue, and didn't particularly offer any sort of consolation for his searching. Crowded sites too, left him preferring to find solace elsewhere. Just the mere thought of being surrounded by more of these crazed individuals made a wave of trepidation wash over him. _It would be a bloodbath on his sanity's behalf._ They would reach for him, grab at him- all demanding his time for whatever the hell photos were. Or worse... they could demand that he remove his armor. The man quickly shook his head, a shudder passing though him at the thought. Even though he could sense the wetness coating his skin under his vambraces, his palms still felt sweaty, his heart pressing hard in his chest as he played out him walking into the swarm gathered about. For his sake, he decided against going near. 

He almost considered going back to the alleyway from whence he had came, but the thought of being anywhere near that blasted container made his stomach do a flip. Luckily for him, though, he eventually came upon what appeared to be an abandoned establishment.

He looked around at first, eyeing the gate that enclosed it. It was pretty worn down, and parts of the roof had caved in, but he figured it was better than the alley. _No, anything was better than that…_

Making sure no one had a clear view of him, he pushed the gate with his hands. To his surprise, it opened relatively easy, and he moved it enough to allow his large size through. There wasn't really anything nearby that he could lock it with, so he closed it and hoped for the best. 

Once inside, he situated himself in what he considered the driest part of the structure. Sure, rain still seeped through the cracks and left the place with a musty smell, but he would be dry. There were a number of broken panes and windows that were a bit concerning, but it would suffice for the rest of the night. He could do this. 

The man decided that it'd be easier once the rain let up. Then he could be merry on his way and find out just what world he was in. Perhaps he could even find someone to assist him in doing so. _That would be nice…_

Zelgius, the Black Knight of Daein, was sure he'd be able to figure something out. After all, he did once man two of Tellius' armies. How difficult could it be?


	2. The Status Quo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *puts the Pizza box on the counter*
> 
> Oc time.
> 
>  
> 
> *Translations will be in the notes, btw. I apologize in advance if anything is off.*
> 
> Also, if you've noticed the change in title or inconsistencies in the chapters, I've been going back and modifying a few things. Just unhappy with how a few of the things were, is all.

"You have the appointment at 4:30, right?"

The pen in his hand jotted something on the notepad in front of him.

"One moment, please."

A few taps on the keyboard could be heard, followed by a scrolling of a mouse.

"Ah, I see you. The koi on the back." He let out a hum and jotted something else down.

"Yes, I have the rendering done. It's…" He pauses, the voice on the other line cutting him off to ask something. "Well, yes, you can make changes to it if it's not exactly the way you like. When you come in I'll walk you through it and we can go from there."

Another quick scribble.

"If you need to reschedule the appointment, we can do that. Just know that the policy is twenty-four hours in advance." A quick glance at his watch. "Yes, if you were to try to cancel an appointment within the twenty-four hours, you would lose your deposit."

He pressed the phone to his shoulder, stretching his other arm.

"No, it's no issue. I'm happy to answer any questions you have."

He put the phone back to his ear and clicked out of the screen he was browsing.

"Alright, well I will see you at 4:30 then. Take care."

A click on the red button on his phone and the man seated at the front desk finished stretching his joints, a relaxed sigh joining the pops of his shoulders. It had already been a long day in the parlor, he noted, mind sharing a similar emphasis of fatigue.

"Four sessions…two consultations…" he yawned, body leaning back into the chair.

He still had four more appointments to get through, including the one at 4:30. _Just another day for L.A's upcoming and prolific tattoo artist,_ he thought, swiveling his chair over to his desk in the back of the shop. It wasn't even one of his busier days, either, but Jaret Black took it in stride.

He slid his chair under the desk and reached for one of the folders lined up on the little rack, the one marked with the name of the client that was on the phone. He didn't really even _have_ to look it up by name- he knew exactly the man who requested such a piece, the folder situated right in the front of the stack.

He opened it up and looked down at the rendering. It was a traditional Japanese-styled koi atop a Yin and Yang symbol, one Jaret found to be simple and an easy sketch, but pretty and ornate nonetheless. The client had an interesting story for it as well, which Jaret had been eager to hear.

_A devout man seeking peace and tranquility…_

Yes, Jaret had liked that story, as he did most that offered theirs to him. He had even been excited when the guy came in and had a full-fledged conversation with him on what he wanted with this tattoo. The orientation… the outcome… the color design… The guy had even thrown in a mini lesson on the kanji inked on the insides of his forearms, which Jaret found to be quite fascinating.

It didn't even matter that they were in the back for over an hour- Jaret was just glad to be a part of this man's religious revelation. That and he found enjoyment in crafting pieces that his clients could take pride in, ones that would endure the hardships and overall span of life of their wearer.

To Jaret, it was art. 

The whole experience, the whole act of committing one's body to the pen, whether by receiving the carefully considered work or doling out the quintessential achievement, was an art process. A different medium from the common traditional art, sure, but tattery was art nonetheless. Far different from long-established classes of its field, but as notable as dragging a brush along the chalky textile of canvas. It was as symbolic as sweeping soft strokes of pastel along thick paper or blending values of dark and light with charcoal. Tattooing, then, shared numerous outlets and algorithms with the finer arts, with only one a few differences.

Much like painting, marks were swept across a canvas, the colors and outlines crafting fine images around varying techniques. Color-coded, pressure-induced material accepted the diluted pigment onto its able fibers to bond with the desired hues. But unlike the platform upon which painting was divulged on, this canvas was _living_. It breathed the surrounding air, ate the food within its reach, drank the available resources, slept amongst others in the shared confines of a bed… The most versatile canvas out there- a portable awning stretched over a well-abled body.

Jaret found it beautiful, a devotion unlike no other. _An art form unlike no other_.

It was this unique unveiling that led him to find excitement in the individuals he tattooed. He wanted to hear their story and help them find meaning in their piece, even if it _was_ as simple as a koi fish.

It was what drove him to handle ink in the first place.

It was also the reason why he was currently stuck working the majority of his days, hands sketching away upon layers of paper. Eight years in the field and countless hours under his belt, he had no intentions of looking back, and often welcomed a long day around strewn drawings and references.

"Hm…"

His thoughts seemingly having lost his focus, Jaret set the rendering down and leaned back in the chair. The shop was entirely quiet when he didn't have clients, enough so that he often found himself him pondering within the confines of his own head.

"I'm sure there's nothing else I need to add…"

He let out a sigh and found himself looking back at the sheet. There was always that impulse to make sure everything was perfect- it had to be when it concerned permanent convictions.

Not that Jaret was an avid perfectionist, his messy room a bit detrimental to that assumption, but he had specific things he kept orderly. The tattoo parlor and his work were the two such ones. His living space could afford to be unkept- his work environment could not. It's what kept his reputation high as an artist, and he'd be damned if he put his store at risk.

"It looks good. I doubt he'll dislike it."

Jaret slid the render back in the folder away and laid it flat on the desk. His stomach made an audible grumble, and he looked down at it with subtle concern. "Has it really been that long?"

He took a look at his watch and figured he had enough time to stop at his favorite coffee shop before his client showed up. That and he might spare a minute or two to grab a bite to eat, seeing as he hadn't eaten anything since early this morning.

Just the thought of a steaming cup of café con leche made drool form at the corners of his mouth. _The creaminess of the milk paired with the boldness of the freshly pressed espresso…_ He had been hooked on the drink from the moment he had first tried it, loving how perfectly everything blended together.

"Well, it _has_ been a while since I stopped by…" He wasn't sure he even needed to convince himself otherwise at this point. "It wouldn't hurt to make a quick trip there."

Jaret walked over to the rack in the back and grabbed his black pea coat, slipping the warm fabric on. He then took hold of his cashmere scarf- his favorite shade of red- and wrapped around his neck. It covered the tattoos he had on that often exposed area of skin, which was fine by him, but the main reason the burgundy fabric was a must have with his coat was because he was a sucker for how soft it was.

Not that he'd ever confess to such mawkish sentiment. Jaret Black was far too ornery.

Taking in a deep breath, the tattoo artist eased on his black gloves and ran his fingers over the smooth buttons on his coat, counting them as he went. He then turned to look at himself in the mirror, his signature look reflecting back at him. He looked fine, he supposed, one of his gloved hands raking through his ebony locks to straighten the mess that was his hair. A few more hours of sleep might have done him good last night, but he could pass himself off.

Enough to get some coffee, that is.

Jaret checked his coat pockets briefly before he locked up. The rectangular weight in the one alerted him that his phone was indeed still in there, much to his relief. His wallet on the other hand… _He was always forgetting where he kept the damn thing._

A thought came to mind and the artist strolled over to the front desk, fiddling around with the cabinets until he found the leather card holder. It just so happened to be right beside his keys, so he considered himself extra lucky in today's bout of locating his wallet.

Jaret slipped the latter into his coat pocket. He then did a once over of the shop and flipped over the "We are open!" sign that hung on the front door. The lock turned with an audible click, and Jaret strolled out the side door, the rain greeting him with the fresh scent of petrichor.

 _Oh, how it was to live the life he did_. Day in and day out, performing the same variety of tasks, all differing in their requirements and efforts. It was strenuous work, sure, but the tattoo artist enjoyed every minute of it.

It was that sense of familiarity that allowed him the confidence to run his own shop. It was the ease of recognition and habitual nature that offered him a fair and simple life.

Jaret Black himself, however, was not a simple man. Having a life that was more commonly so, one that seemed to operate on quite simple terms, however, sure made it a hell of a lot easier.

He woke up at the same time every morning, for starters- or at least he tried to. Something about managing a normal routine… Whatever. He'd chalk it up to being easier than expecting to wake up at a reasonable time at his own accord. Everything else, he supposed, followed suit. He even lived in the spacious apartment encompassing the upper portion of his shop to save time and add convenience to his work, so yeah, he'd call it simple. Simple enough to survive on a daily basis and make decent money, that is.

Jaret let out a sigh at the thought and wiped at a few water droplets that trickled down from his damp hair. Life was life, and rain was rain. That's just how it was.

He was quick to make his way to his favorite shop, being sure to dodge the numerous puddles on the way there. The rain really had been coming down the past few days, as evident by the lack of available sidewalk for him to walk on. He pressed on, though, determined to see through the drizzle and reach his destination.

La café de la Rue stood out on the corner, it's neon sign flickering underneath steady droplets that slid down the curvy lettering. Jaret had been coming here for well over a year now. He sighed and watched the sign sway for a moment, the chipped paint evident that they still hadn't gotten around to buying a new one.

The bell chimed when he pushed the door open, a weak "Good afternoon" being thrown his way. He looked around the shop, noticing the lack of people, and then shifted his attention to the counter. A girl stood behind it, eyes scanning the small screen below her fingers. Her hair was pulled back in the usual manner, expression blank as she tapped on the device. The perfect picture of absolute boredom.

Jaret chuckled to himself and walked up, clearing his throat once to get her attention. "Hi, I was wondering if I could get a gift card for here. I'd like to put $25 on it, if possible."

"We actually don't sell gift cards, as-" The barista at the register looked up and froze, her eyes going wide when she realized who was at the counter. Her expression quickly turned to a frown and she glared at Jaret, who offered her a small smile in return. "Oh fuck you."

"Aw, are you telling me that you've never offered them for a place as lovely as this?" he responded, feigning sadness in his voice." Jaret knew the shop didn't sell gift cards, as they were pretty old fashioned, but he always found amusement in teasing her about it. Tamara Lopez, the main barista at the café, however, didn't think his humor was funny.

"We're not a fucking Starbucks, Jaret."

"Now, now…" The tattoo artist chided, raising his index finger to wave it at her. "Such language is surely not befitting of someone so young and innocent."

"Fuck. You." Tamara annunciated, making it known that she damned well wasn't going to be playing into his little game. That and she honestly didn't care if he teased her about her _language_. She just so happened to be quite the sailor when she wanted to, and Jaret was by no means allowed to judge her.

"Aw, you're so rude to your customers, Tamara. I thought you were supposed to be the sweet one." Again he used that annoyingly patronizing tone, a smirk stretched far across his face as her eye twitched.

"You're lucky there are customers here, _pendejo_ ," the girl scoffed, all but whispering the curse.

The tattoo artist couldn't help but give a light laugh at her fiery demeanor. "You never change, Tamara. I'm glad." It might have been a month or so since his last visit, but he could never forget the heart of the café. Soft, chocolate eyes on a heart-shaped face, a mass of straight brown hair often kept in a messy bun… She was even on the shorter end of the barista count, coming up only to Jaret's chest in comparison to those that were all over 5'6. Jaret found her to be endearing, as did most that walked into the café.

It would be nearly impossible to _not_ find her delightful. Tamara worked herself day and night to keep the place in tip-top shape, often spending the majority of her time engaging with customers. She might have not been the oldest barista working there, but she was regarded as a kind-hearted soul by those she served. If you asked any of the usuals about her, they'd tell you that she was a handworker, always asking them for updates on recent events in their lives and lending them her ears for any worries they might have had.

Tamara was virtuous about stuff like that. Jaret himself often called her thoughtful.

The short statured brunette might have also possessed the tendency to be pissy towards those she worked with, often in times when they half-assed their work or gave her sass, but overall she was a good-natured girl. She had many friends outside the café and was often found volunteering at the neighborhood animal shelter in her free time. It wasn't that Tamara did it simply to play with the animals- which was totally one of the reasons- she did it because she believed in giving back to the community. Jaret respected her because of it, finding it humbling to see a girl her age so dedicated to helping others.  

"If you weren't such a gem, I wouldn't have a reason to come back."

That seemed to stop Tamara in her tracks, her brows softening at those words. "W-Well…" She folded her arms and huffed, the niceness in his tone offsetting her attitude. "Just because you come in here and spout nonsense doesn't mean I forgive you."

Jaret smiled and tilted his head. "And what do I have to do to earn your forgiveness?"

She averted her gaze, finding a spot on the floor to look at instead. "I dunno…" _Damnit! She was supposed to be angry at him for not showing up at all the past month! Damn him for being so nice about it!_

The brunette pouted and replied, "Maybe you should actually show up once in a while."

"My apologies. I didn't think you cared so much for a random customer," Jaret humored, watching as she jerked her head up to glare at him. He really did love to tease her.

"A random customer?!" Tamara put both hands on the counter, raising one of them to point at him. "Look here, Mr. Wise-ass. You don't get to come in here on a rainy day and be all nice about being a ghost. I think that's quite mean of you."

"I'm not being mean," he mused, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as she scolded him. Tamara had known him for awhile now, and he was used to her acting like a grown-up when he was around, despite their five year age difference. "I just happened to stop by when nothing was going on to see my favorite employee, that's all."

"Suuuure," came the annoyed response, the brunette rolling her eyes as she stood up. "Here I was thinking you had found someone else to make your usual, but then you just show up out of the blue like you're hot shit or something."

This got a hearty chuckle from the tattoo artist. "Do you not think I'm hot shit, Tamara?"

"Pfft…as if, Freckles." _Ah, yes, his favorite nickname._

Jaret poked the line of mocha-induced spots on his cheek. "My freckles are one of my selling factors, thank you very much." He did have a lot of them, all splayed out across the olive skin he inherited from his parents. No thanks to his Italian genes, of course.

"That's pretty sad if you have to rely on freckles to get you laid," Tamara snickered.

Jaret isn't even fazed at her response. This of course was a common thing between the two of them. "Oh, don't you worry, Tamara. The day I have to rely on these bad boys for sex is the day I stop looking."

"Damn," she teased back. "I was sure you already had. Last I heard you were _still_ single." The younger of the two reached over and poked him square in the chest. "Guess L.A's bachelor is gonna die alone after all."

The tattoo artist opened his mouth to fire a retort her way, but the last comment made him pause. He… wasn't so sure he liked that statement. It rather struck a chord in him that left him feeling a unsettled. _He had a reason for being single…_

Jaret shifted his gaze and simply gave Tamara a look, his smile disappearing from his face. It was subtle enough for the average person to miss it, but the brunette could read him pretty well. She could tell when she overstepped her boundaries.

"Shit…" Brown eyes softened and she waved her hands in front of him emphatically. "Hey, don’t worry about it, Jaret! I'm sure there's a Mr. Right out there for you somewhere."

"It's… fine…" he uttered, averting his gaze. He hated that he was still sensitive about that topic even after all this time. _Just goes to show how little progress his mysterious lifestyle has gotten him._

"Or maybe you don't even need one! You've got me, after all." Tamara tilted her head, trying to get Jaret's attention. It didn't seem to be helping much… "Just think- if you have me, then you won't ever have to worry about dying alone." _That definitely felt like the wrong thing to say._

Jaret only sighed and looked out the shop window, searching for some sort of distracting calm in the rain. _Oh yes,_ she realized, _those were surely a poor choice of words on her part._

Hoping to switch topics, Tamara shifts her attention to something else, eyes finding the subject of her friend's attention. She watched curiously as the wetness fell in a steady drip, a loud sigh escaping her lips. "Can you believe it's still raining? I was going to go to the beach and everything today, but it hasn’t let up at all."

Jaret messes with one of the toothpick dispensers and shrugs. "It's supposed to rain for the next day or so." He glances over at her. "That's what the forecast says at least."

"Yeah, well you know where the forecast can stick its prediction?" Tamara turned her head and offered a sneer, leaning on the counter in front of him.

Jaret didn't miss a beat in response. "Yes, well if the forecast had an ass, I'm sure that joke would be funny."

Her face dropped for a second before she shriveled her nose at him. "Well if you hadn't ruined my joke, it would have been."

They often bantered like this whenever Jaret graced her with his presence. It was a relief for Tamara, even, as she didn’t get to have fun like this with anyone else. Her folks were immigrants from Cuba, and very traditional, the one exception being her aunt, so she wasn't really able to act out and show her true colors. That didn't stop her from sneaking around with a few of her friends from time to time or letting loose when her so-called tattoo artist confidant decided to show his uptight ass.

Tamara really liked Jaret though- she really did. He might have been a sassy, sensitive, high-strung son of a bitch hellbent on being a millennial edge lord, but deep down she knew he was a good man. He had a lot of morals she never expected from someone like him, and in a way it made her look up to him. That and she loved to intrude on his sex life whenever possible.

"So what can I get your lame ass? The usual?" She swiped her finger across the screen of the iPad and looked up at him.

"I suppose…" the tattoo artist sighed. "Though I don't appreciate the sass."

"Oh don't even," she deadpanned, punching a few things into the tablet. "You don't have room to talk, drama queen."

Jaret raised a brow. "Drama queen?"

The brunette barista nodded and turned away from him to start making his drink. "You're all drama… though I guess technically you aren't a queen."

"I would hope not," he sighed. _He seemed to be getting out of whatever funk he had put himself in, at least._

"I'm sure that if a big strong man with a _pinga grande_ came around, you'd be quick to wife him." Her words were saccharine off her tongue as she deliberately rolled them with emphasis. She always had to act like a little shit, didn't she?

Jaret frowned and opened his mouth to respond and save face, but found himself interrupted by a loud, booming voice from the back of the café.

"Is that my _mijo_?? Tamara, love, you didn't tell me our favorite usual was here!"

Jaret's eyes went wide as a tall woman pushed her way past the short barista to greet him. She put her hands on her curvy hips and smiled at him, the motion a bit enchanting for a woman her size.

"You can't go around saying that!" exclaimed Tamara, eyes darting around the room to see if anyone looked back at that comment. No one did, thankfully, but she didn't miss the opportunity to glare at the woman to her left.

The lady in question, however, only ruffled her hair and laughed. "Tamara, mija, you worry too much. Besides…how can you say he's not the favorite? You could make his drink in his sleep!"

Tamara looked at her sheepishly, and replied, "Yeah, well he comes in here enough and orders the same thing. It's not that hard to memorize it."

"Still," the matron reprimanded. "You should always tell your customers how important they are."

"Yes, because what we need is another reason for Jaret to be full of himself." Tamara rolled her eyes and ignored the disparaging look coming from her male friend. He even had his arms crossed to emulate his "upset," but she played it off cool and didn't even so much as blink when the bustier woman walked around the counter.

"But _Tamara_ …" The tattoo artist hardly had time to react as he was all but forced into a bear hug, the breath in his lungs leaving him as she wrapped her arms around him. "Jaret deserves all the love he can get."

"Ah, Valentina," the tattoo artist wheezed, forgetting that she was a lot stronger than she looked. "It's been a while since I've seen you."

"Well, it's been a while since you've _been_ here, mijo." She let go of the tattoo artist and gave him a hard pat on the back, the motion sending him forward a bit. He rubbed the now tender spot with a pout, wondering what he did to deserve this. She was always so rough with him… She, being Valentina Rodriquez.

Valentina was Tamara's cousin and a wild woman at heart. She donned similar colored hair and the same brown eyes, but was far more in tune with her maturity than her shorter counterpart. Fierce, protective, warm… like a mother figure, Jaret would often put it. She was also as bold as Jaret was reserved, but in a way it made her charming. He could sit there and talk to her for hours and he knew she wouldn't bat an eye or judge him. The busty brunette was also taller than Jaret by like three inches, so she thought it gave her the right to act his superior.

"There's no need for those names, Valentina. We've been over this," Jaret sighed, knowing that it was a thing she did regardless. "I am older than you, anyway, so it sounds weird when you say it."

Valentina shook her head. "You're only older by a year, Jaret."

 _That was true_ , he thought, but he still disliked the silly little name. Well…not really. He actually felt better knowing he got a cute nickname as an expression of her affection for him, but hell would freeze over before he ever admitted that.

"Yeah, you'd be better off calling him _puta_ ," the younger of the two threw in, a smirk evident on her face. "It suits him better."

Jaret only rolled his eyes and moved to the end of the bar to wait for his drink. "Ah, Tamara, I think your rudeness scared him off!" he heard her cousin gasp dramatically, a hand moving to swat at her shoulder.

The younger of the two only laughed, shifting to place his cup under the espresso machine. "It'd take a lot more than that to scare him off, Valentina. Trust me. 

"Still," her cousin scolds. "It's not nice to call him names."

Tamara waits for the rest of the espresso to drink into the cup and pours a hefty amount of milk into the mug. She sprinkles a dash of cinnamon on top. "Yeah, well he's worse at it. Underneath those good looks is one mean son of a bitch."

Jaret gives Tamara a 'you're-not-wrong' gesture and doesn't even so much as flinch when Valentina raises her hand at him, finger close enough to almost poke his chest. "Here I was having such high hopes for you, mijo, but here you are rubbing off on my poor cousin." She frowns at him, much like a disappointed mother.

"And she can handle herself," he added, rolling his eyes. "She's mature enough to make that decision." A hand moves to fiddle with the phone in his pocket. "It's not like she doesn't give me a run for my money."

"That's not an excuse for you to use such language in front of her." Valentina only gets a shrug from him, Tamara not even so much as adding to her defense. She eventually sighs, finding that it was of little use to continue chastising him over the issue. "Well, for today at least, let's keep things appropriate."

"We'll see," came the quick response. Tamara slid the cup of coffee towards Jaret with a smug look on her face. "Here's your coffee, _Jaret._ " She'd forego one of her brazen names for him to appease her cousin this time.

The artist looked at her skeptically before taking the drink into his hand. "Thank you." There was definitely no way she poisoned it in the minute or so she had her back turned to them… Well, maybe not poison, but she _had_ threatened to put laxatives in his coffee before. He surely wouldn't put it past her.

Tamara took notice of his hesitation with the drink and rolled her eyes. "I'm not planning to kill you, geez." She walked back to the iPad. "You're acting like I put arsenic or something."

"Well, knowing you…" Jaret looked away as she glared at him, choosing to quickly drop the matter. A change in the topic might do them all a favor, or perhaps just give the fiery girl time to get herself situated. "Anyway… how have you been, Valentina?"

He got an appreciative look from the older cousin. "Things are well. The shop seems to be getting a lot of customers as of late, though today has been slow." With all the newer business they were putting up on their block, Jaret didn't doubt that. The café was one of the only joints around this area and stood out as a beacon for those eager to get their hands on decent coffee. It made sense that their shop was seeing some decent foot traffic.

"Well, it has been _raining_ ," Tamara pointed out, now seemingly busy with cleaning her station.

Valentina smiled and looked back at her cousin. "The rain is good though. Much better than this heat wave we've been having."

"Indeed," Jaret hummed. "It's nice to have weather other than California's blistering heat. Though I can say that not having a break in all this rain is doing the streets an injustice." There were a number of storm drains here and there, but the systems were too shallow for continuous days of this weather. Having the marina helped, sure, but even that had been reported to have been overflowing.

"Still, it will clear out and business will return to usual," Tamara sighed. "And speaking of business…" She turned on her heel and pointed at Jaret. "You still need to pay."

The freckled man smiled. "Of course." He reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. "I wouldn't want my favorite establishment going under, now would I?" That got him another roll of the eyes, which he was sure was her go-to response for him.

"Yeah, it's sure be a shame for our busy café to fail all because one man didn't pay for his café con leche." Tamara pulled his order back up on the tablet and held out her hand expectantly. Meanwhile, her cousin, having previously moved to help organize the inventory, looked over her shoulder at the tattoo artist.

"You should come around more often, mijo. Tamara's missed you, and the whole shop seems dull without such a handsome face."

Jaret shrugs his shoulders and hands the smaller girl his card. "I've been quite busy as of late. Haven't had much time to do much outside of work."

"That sounds like a cheap excuse," Tamara countered, reluctantly taking his payment and swiping it on the iPad. "I mean, you can't quite possibly stay in that shop all day."

The tattoo chuckles and takes the card back when she hands it to him. "You'd be surprised." He looks over at Valentina when she leans on the counter in front of him. He knew they worried about him, but work was still work. His occupation wasn't as flexible as running a café, nor was it as simple, and because of that, the tattoo artist was constantly doing something.

"Do you have a minute, mijo? We'd love to catch up with you." Valentina gave him a warm, hopeful smile.

He looked out at the rain that continued to drench the street. "I suppose I can spare a minute."

The taller of the two girls beamed, gesturing for him to step a bit closer to her. "Good, we can all have a seat at one of the tables. It hasn't been busy at all today, so we'll be able to get away with having ourselves a little break."

Jaret nodded and took a sip of his coffee, humming happily at the taste. He looked over at Tamara with a fond expression. "It good?" she asked, her brow raised. The freckled face nodded and gave her a small smile. _It wasn't good- it was perfect._ She was content with the answer, it seemed.

A customer _did_ happen to walk in while they were preparing to go situate themselves elsewhere, so Valentina remained at the counter to handle it. The others in the meantime found a table in the back to sit at. Tamara took that sudden freedom to go right back to being her spicy self, a grin on her face as she sat down across from Jaret.

"You need a haircut, _guapo_." she gestured to the long dark strands hanging down off his face.

"Do I?" Jaret reached up and felt a few of them, wondering if his hair really had grown that much since the last time he had gotten it done.

"Yeah, it's getting too long. You're gonna start looking like Jesus." Jesus the kitchen manager. Not to be confused with the _other_ Jesus.

"If I ever grow a pedostache, _then_ you can call me Jesus."

Tamara didn't bother to stifle the laugh that arose from her. _Poor Jesus_ , she thought. "If he heard you call his mustache that, he'd probably cry."

Jaret folded his hands on the table. "Am I wrong?"

"No," she giggled. "No you're not."

"Then it's settled."

Tamara sat up in her seat with a look of disbelief. "Wait- no it's not! You still have _that_ mess to worry about." She pointed at his hair.

"Maybe I like it longer…" It was always amusing to watch his friend fall into an increasing crescendo of avid dramatics. It was so inhumanly perfect that he swore she was secretly an aspiring Broadway performer, despite how much she professed to not being into all of those _froufrou plays_.

"Oh nonono…" She shook her head. "You are _not_ gonna grow a man bun."

Jaret chuckled and tucked a coal-colored strand behind his ear. "I would hope not. Just think of the image I'd portray if my clients saw me looking like some sort of hipster."

Tamara could only laugh. _Jaret- a hipster._ She'd be dead long before he even so much as pretended to associate with that lifestyle. "You're right. Definitely _not_ a hipster. A pretentious emo fuck, maybe, but you're too mainstream for that."

Her friend only frowned, not liking her _endearing_ use of those words. "I'm not emo, Tamara," he scoffed.

"Whatever you say, My Chemical Romance." _Jaret didn't even listen to that band. Just goes to show how "updated" her music references were._

"Tamara, are you bothering Jaret?" The two of them looked up. Valentina was holding a cup in her hand, the other one fastened to her hip. She gave her cousin a stern look.

"N-No! I just…" The girl in question stammered, having been caught in the act of doing just that. "I'm just offering a word of advice to him!"

Jaret raised his brow. "I do believe you were telling me to chop off my hair."

"Was not! I just said you needed to cut it before it got weird."

"My hair isn't _that_ long, Tamara." He had got it cut like six months ago, so it wasn't really an issue if it was a few inches longer than he was used to.

"Is too," she countered, sticking her tongue out at him in ever the childish manner. _What can of worms did he open?_

Valentina took a seat at the chair besides Tamara, a sigh coming from her. " _Prima_ , you can't go telling people how go about their daily lives."

Her cousin only pouted. "But he looks better with his hair shorter! How's he gonna get laid if he looks messy?"

"Well," the older of the two replied, a hint of shock in her voice. "If he likes his hair long, then leave him be. I'm sure he's perfectly capable of finding someone… in that manner… if he so desires it." Jaret gave Tamara an 'I-told-you-so' expression, a smug look on his face. She shot him the finger and mouthed a very obvious "fuck you." Valentina could only sigh and shake her head, knowing she was getting nowhere with these two.

With that in mind, she chose to bring something else to the table. "You know…" The tall brunette leaned towards Jaret, her hand cupping over her mouth as if to whisper something. "Tamara has become quite the young lady since the last time you saw her."

Whether or not her cousin had actually attempted to keep this between them was up for debate. The shock and embarrassment was clear on her cousin's face as she obviously heard what had been said.

"V-Valentina! Stop that!" Her face was beet red, eyes wider than dinner plates as she begged Valentina to stop.

"What? He's a handsome man who could use a good girl like you."

Tamara looked over at Jaret with sympathetic eyes, all too well knowing his pain as her cousin tried to couple them yet again. "Valentina, he's not…" Perhaps it was wrong to just go out and denounce him in front of her like that… or better yet _remind_ her cousin about his so called preferences. "I'm not really his type." She could be vague and still get the message across, hopefully.

Her cousin furrowed her brows, looking at Tamara with a confused look. "Not his type?" She looked back at Jaret, who was sipping his coffee and looking anywhere _but_ at her. "You're a beautiful lady, even prettier than me. it's about time you got yourself a fine man." She elbowed the tattoo artist as if to reaffirm that the comment was for him. The compliment was nice and all, but Jaret wanted to be anywhere _but_ this conversation.

"Look, he just… he's not interested, okay? We're just good friends is all. I'm fine with it, really."

This only earned a whine from her cousin. "Tamaaaaara, why do you deny yourself of such a man. You two have such good chemistry after all, and it's about time you found yourself an appropriate boyfriend." Jaret looked at her incredulously as he drank his coffee. _Him, an appropriate boyfriend?_ That was worthy of a laugh, surely.

"Just because we're friends doesn't mean I want to date him, and besides, he's too _old_ for me anyway." _That_ merited quite the ogle from a certain freckled face, who was in fact _not_ the old man Tamara was making him out to be.

"Your mother and father are 10 years apart, prima. They met when they were your age, so it's not uncommon fo-"

"Look, Valentina…" Jaret places his hand on the shoulder of the woman so dedicated to the conflict, cutting her off to put an end to the drama this topic was leading towards. He took notice of the grateful look from across the table, knowing that it had to be this way. "If it helps… I'm not choosing to date your cousin because I don't think she would be a wonderful girlfriend. I'm choosing not to date her for the simple reason that…" He took in deep breath. "…I'm a homosexual."

Valentina opened her mouth, but surprisingly nothing came out. She sat there for a moment, perhaps processing this. Jaret only sighed and sat back in his seat. "We've been through this a number of times…"

"I thought you were over that, mijo." The response was curt. She folded her arms across her chest, a displeased look on her face.

Jaret snorted. "It’s not a phase, Valentina. I don't just wake up and _choose_ to like men. I mean… of course I'd _choose_ to like men because they're _very_ sexually satisfying, but I'm not going to wake up one morning and decide to start sleeping with women." It wasn't really an amusing concept, but he knew that she meant no harm. Jaret didn't know why, of all people, _he_ was the one she thought would be good for Tamara, as he was pretty much everything his friend had called him, but he appreciated her thoughtfulness nonetheless.

"What a waste," Valentina sighed, feigning her upset. "Such a fine man like you unable to make beautiful babies… All the beautiful Cuban women you're missing out on, mijo…"

Jaret only hummed and looked at Tamara with a small smile. "I don't see it as a waste, and neither do the men I sleep with…"

The woman froze up and laughing could be heard across the table. "Oh god, Valentina… your face! Jaret that's priceless!" Tamara slapped the table a few times with her hand, a few of the other customers turning to look at them. "See, now that would be funny if you were actually getting laid!"

Jaret frowned and folded his arms over his chest. "To think that you would know anything about my sex life…"

"Oh please," she snorted. "If you were getting laid, you wouldn't have time at all for us. You'd be off with some hunk named Harry doing ungodly things in your free time."

Jaret only rolled his eyes. "I find your example lacking creativity. ' _Some hunk named Harry_ ' my ass." He made a 'tsk' sound. "My standards are much higher than that, Tamara."

"Oh, I'm sorry, _buses_ ," the younger girl shot back, not sorry at all. In fact, a shit-eating grin was wide on her face. "I forgot you were into _Jovencitos_." She leaned over the table, dropping her voice to a whisper. "Especialmente un marica con músculos, pero depilado." 

Jaret shriveled his nose. Tamara was always quick to be lewd whenever his sexuality came to be a topic of discussion. A shame, really, for a nice girl such as her, as it threw off her image of innocence. Not that she cared; Tamara might have been the youngest barista at the shop, but she was one of the lewdest people he knew. 

"You're rearing to go today, aren't you."

The girl in question seated herself upright in her chair, a satisfied look on her face. He'd let her win this time, only because he'd come to miss her fiery reserve in the time he had neglected to see her. Meanwhile, Valentina was looking between them with quite the shock on her face. Her cheeks were red and she was aghast at the language coming from her cousin.

"You knew what you were walking into when you stepped foot in here," Tamara snickered, seeming to find great enjoyment in her cousin's displeasure.

"Haven't I told you that that mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one day?" Jaret added, pausing to take a sip from his drink. "You say that to the wrong person and you'll come to regret it."

Tamara sat back in her seat and huffed. "Well, you don't seem too bothered by it."

"Yes, well you're lucky that I like you." Jaret pushed a strand of hair behind his ear. "Otherwise I might have had a choice selection of words for you."

"Yes, cause you're _so_ scary, Mr. Tattoo Artist."

The three of them continued to chat like this, Tamara trying to get as many cracks in at her friend as Valentina would allow, Jaret firing them back and watching in amusement as the mama bear tried to keep the peace. It was relaxing, though the few customers in the café probably found them to be bothersome with their inappropriate jokes and whatnot. Whatever, they had gotten their coffee and were munching away as they did crosswords in the newspaper. It's not like the two drama queens sitting across from one another were concerned if they offended one of them with their mentions of "dickings" and "oral sex." Valentina, however, had opted to leave them to their own devices, and had stowed herself away at the counter, happy to be out of earshot as she tended to the two or so customers that trickled in. 

Jaret glanced at his watch on a whim amidst one of their debates and nearly spit out the his drink. "Shit." It was 4:00. _Shit was right._

Tamara looked at him, her smile dropping as she noticed his sudden seriousness. "What's wrong?

"I have a client at 4:30…" He quickly downed the rest of the cup and stood up from the table. "I wasn't keeping track of time." Which was a surprise on his end because Jaret was typically good at being mindful of things like that. Yet, an hour had passed and here he was about to risk his reputation for always being on time. He'd guess he'll have to blame it on Tamara if he was late.

"Did you ride here, or…?" The barista stood up as well, hands quickly cleaning up the trash they had moved to the center of the table. Jaret shook his head and sighed. "Well why would you walk out here in the rain? You're just asking to get soaked," Tamara chuckled, following him up to the counter.

"I didn't want to get my bike out and have it sit out in the rain. It was just easier to walk."

"Well, hopefully you're not late."

Jaret checked his watch again and nodded in her direction. "I have a few minutes to spare if I leave now."

Tamara put the cup in the sink and waved her hand back at him, bidding him a half-assed goodbye. Just another thing she did to show she loved him. Jaret didn't like it, but he couldn't afford to accost her for it, so he just turned to head out the door.

"Oi! Mijo!"

Jaret turned around at that, noticing that Valentina was holding a paper bag in her hand. She waved it around a few times to grab his attention, taking a second or so to catch up with him.

"Here, take this."

She held out the bag, a smile on her face as he took it from her. "Tamara said you might not have eaten anything."

The artist's brows drew together. They were always spoiling him, Tamara more than not the culprit for the sudden disappearance of the café's signature pastries. It wouldn't be wrong then, to say that he was surprised when it was Valentina who gave him the free food. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know," Valentina replied, her eyes staring at him warmly. "Think of it as a thank you for stopping by."

"You really don't ha-"

"You take care of Tamara well." the taller of the two interrupted, shoving the bag back into Jaret's hand when he tried to give it back to her. "She always has the biggest smile on her face when she sees you."

The tattoo artist opened his mouth to speak, but decided that it was better to not argue with her. He took the bag back and thanked her, his voice a bit lack-luster as if to not indicate that the sentimentality had gotten to him.

She smiled and shooed him playfully with her hands. "Now run along, mijo. I wouldn't want you late for your appointment."

Jaret nodded and opened the door, taking one last look at her before he stepped out into the rain. He threw her a quick goodbye and began making his way back to his shop.

It was still raining pretty heavily out, the puddles in the street merging to form ponds that the cars coasted through. It looked like a car or two had gotten stuck in the deeper portions of the flooding, but the rest of the commute seemed to do just fine in the foot or so of water. So much so that a few of them sped right past the tattoo artist, momentum sending water flying in all directions.

Jaret was lucky enough to not get splashed on his return, an upthrown wave of water from a passing truck missing his person by a foot or so. He grumbled a curse and glared daggers at the guy, glad that the individual simply continued on his way and ended up splashing someone else with the launch of water from his oversized tires.

Not that the tattoo artist worried about himself getting wet, but he did have concern for the paper bag that was up underneath his coat. It would thoroughly piss him off to have the contents ruined, but luckily his shop was only a block or so away. 

His shop in sight, Jaret grabbed his keys from his coat pocket. He made a quick turn down the little alleyway that led to his garage and backdoor and all but jammed the keys into the lock. He tossed the keys and the bag on the desk once inside, hands moving to unbutton his coat and hang it back up on the rack. The artist checked his watch again. He still had time to eat if he was quick about it…

Jaret grabbed the bag, motion a bit gentler this time, and rolled it open. His eyes went wide as he investigated the contents. Wrapped neatly in parchment paper were two pastries, their sweet smell greeting his nose as he pulled them out. "Are these…?"

He licked his lips and took a bite out of one of them, sighing happily as the fruity puree made its presence known to his taste buds. It was a heavenly flavor, a succulent concoction of fresh fruit and sugar all wrapped in a pillowy puff pastry... Jaret could sit there and eat an entire batch of them if he wanted to, his love for sweets sated with the simple taste of one of his favorite treats.

_And they were guava too._

Jaret quickly finished the first pastry with a satisfied smack of his lips, a smile on his face. The guava ones were his favorite, and it was a bit touching to know that the girls helped sneak the café's most popular treat for him. It made him feel special- at least a little bit. He was used to the isolation that he had come to adopt with his occupation, but it was always nice to see someone offer a kind gesture his way. _Special indeed…_

Jaret quickly gobbled up the other pastry, not a single ounce of regret on his mind. He was happy, and so was his stomach for the time being. It had been some time since he had last had one of those delicious pastries, and the resulting sustenance set his mood right. He'd have to thank the girls the next time he saw them. Perhaps offer to take them out to lunch in return for the food. It was the least he could do, seeing as they were so willing to be nice to a man like him.

"I'm quite lucky," he chuckled to himself, sitting down in his chair and sliding over to the front desk.

Valentina was probably still cross at him for not courting her cousin, but he knew she wasn't truly mad at him. She only dramatized her reaction whenever she had to be told, yet again, that females weren't on the market for him. Tamara was like her little sister, after all, considering that Valentina didn't have any siblings to dote on at home. It was natural for her to want her cousin to have things any young woman at her age would have.

 _Still, with how conservative their families were, she never treated him any different than she would if he were straight._ It was nice to have that to look back on whenever he left the café. A reassuring thought that allowed him to be fond of her.

It was also nice to know that he wasn't entirely alone. His life might be in a state of silence currently, but Jaret was… content, to say the least. There was still that lingering feeling of loneliness that occasionally came over him when he was stuck in the shop, but he typically was able to distract that notion with his work…

Jaret knew it wouldn't be long before his client showed up, the minutes ticking away as he fiddled with the pen on his notepad. He really did tend to get absorbed by his thoughts when left alone to his own devices.

He let out a sigh and looked around the room, gaze landing on the desk. He took note of the few papers laying idle before his eyes caught sight of the crumpled up bag. _Damn…_ he thought. They really did know how to treat him right. 

_More than he deserved._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Chapter 2 was quite the process, ugh. I gotta say though, crafting Tamara for this was worth it. She's a precious little bean. Also, I somehow ended up with almost 10,000 words for this chapter??? I am much confusion. 
> 
> Translation:  
> -café con leche: coffee with milk  
> -La café de la Rue: The Street Café  
> -pendejo: a dick (offensive term)  
> -pinga grande: big dick  
> -mijo- dear (for males).  
> -mija- dear (for females)  
> -puta- bitch  
> -prima: cousin (girl)  
> -guapo: handsome  
> -buses: a slang term referring to the kind of gay that's considered "more modern", discreet, masculine, who can be active (top) in anal intercourse, as opposed to the feminine homosexual.  
> -Jovencitos- a twink, or younger male.  
> -Un marica con músculos, pero depilado- a twink with muscles, but shaven 
> 
> Also, I appreciate the kudos! Thank you!


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